Glad Tidings on a Grave Day

Creases around the blue eyes of King Consort Carl deepened as he nodded to Deandra Fletcher as she was introduced to him by Sir Danielle Longbow. “Wonderful to meet you,” he said with a once roguish smile which had become fatherly. His blue eyes glinted with the same mischievous energy they always had.

“And to meet you, My King,” Deandra bowed low, black hair scraping on the granite flagstones of the royal library. Her plain brown dress kissed her ankles as she bowed.

“King Consort. I prefer when people call me Carl, even if I’m told it’s improper.” The man, wrinkled beyond his years, looked at his bodyguards, who stood ready to fight to the death for him as always. Carl rubbed his jaw, wincing. “If my bones were as old as they feel I’d be a grandfather.”

“Are you alright, Carl?” Danielle asked, kneeling before him. “You’re pale.” Her armour scraped the stone as her metal covered knee touched a tile large enough to floor her bedroom. Her pine green tabard caressed the armour.

King Carl clicked his fingers lethargically. “Harry, Larry, I need something to drink. Apple juice or milk.” Lazily regal in his spring green velvet tunic, he spread his legs and cracked his knuckles.

Carl’s bodyguards, Sir Michael Galagad and Sir Peter Petris nodded. An instant game of stone, log, axe decided that Sir Michael would call for the drink.

Arms almost as brawny as Danielle’s mighty trunks swayed as youthful Sir Galagad strode to the door. “APPLE JUICE OR MILK FOR THE KING!” His voice was as deafening inside the room as it presumably had been outside. Danielle had no doubt someone in the kitchens was pouring a tankard of both already.

“Aye,” came a response, echoing from outside.

“Thank you, Sir Galagad. I appreciate the hearing test. My ears were working fine, so you know. Were.” Carl smiled, but the smile morphed into a frown and he bent down. “Tell whoever to hurry up will you, I’m as parched as a desert’s arse.”

“Yes, My King,” said Sir Galagad.

“How many times? It’s Carl.”

“Yes, King Carl.”

Carl rolled his eyes. Watching the knight stop at the open door he chided him. “No. You’ve already deafened one ear. Go.”

“I can’t leave you, My Lord,” protested Sir Galagad.

“You fucking can,” Carl wheezed. “I’m the king. Get me something to drink.” He held up fingers. “Thank you.”

Sir Galagad gave a look to Sir Petris. Scar covered Sir Peter took another step closer to the seated king consort.

“How did I get here? King consort and looking forty years older than I am.” Carl's voice had fallen in volume to a whisper. “Ordering men about.”

“Can I do anything, My Lord?” Deandra asked, bowing low to him again.

“No.  No. I’ll be fine. This isn’t a day for morbid feelings. You’ve come to meet me, Deandra and I’m glad to meet you. Any friend of Danielle’s is a friend of mine. Has she told you she saved my life?” The king consort pointed a palid finger at Sir Longbow.

Danielle held in tears at the fragile state of her friend who should have been in his prime. She saw the young boy she’d defended from the people of Crann.

“Whipped for me,” Carl said, smiling at Sir Longbow wistfully. “They all wanted me dead.”

“I know the story, My King.” Deandra said. “I was there, shouting along with the crowds as they whipped Danielle. I knew she were my aunt, but I yelled anyway. I thought she was a traitor.” Miss Fletcher hung her head in shame, blushing. “I cheered as they stoned you.”

“I was the enemy, Deandra. That’s all water under the bridge. Getting to bed the princess wasn’t a bad consolation.” The smile was there again, and he winked. Danielle wondered how decades, not years, had aged her friend. Weary blue eyes rested in the creased face of an old man.

“My good news. My good news.” The queen’s consort slapped the armrest of his chair. “Come closer.”

Danielle and Deandra took a step forward.

“Closer,” Carl giggled with childish glee.

The knight and her niece took another step towards the smiling royal.

“Closer,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. His bodyguard moved a hand to his sword, ever ready.

 Carl let out an almighty drumroll of flatulence and slapped the chair as he laughed. “I had to. I had to. But I do have good news,” he said as Sir Longbow and Miss Fletcher stepped back. “I’m to be a father again.”

“What?” Danielle gasped her word.

“Yes,” Carl nodded eagerly then winced at pain in his neck. “Not many know, besides Harry, Barry, Larry and Gary. Are there other names that rhyme?” He looked to the audience, genuinely hoping for an answer.

Deandra’s eyes fell upon the tapestry of a dragon destroying a town. Danielle had seen the same tapestry many times and pointed out to Carl that the creature depicted was actually a drake, the smaller cousins of dragons.

“A father again, can you believe it?” Smiling with all the pride anyone ever could, Carl had the look of a doting grandfather.

“Wonderful news, My Lord.” Deandra bowed.

“Please don’t bow, and call me Carl.” He waved a hand to get her to stand straight. He yawned.

“Can I tell Lupita?” Danielle asked of her wife.

“She already knows, she found out this morning. She’s going to be one of the midwives. Who better?” Frowning with his bushy grey eyebrows, he rubbed his jaw once more. “I just need to keep my children away from the sycophants.” He effected a high, whiny voice. “Absolutely, your majesty. Your will is that of the gods. Your birthright is divinely ordained. No one means anything but you. Let me lick your boots my queen.” The king consort stuck out his grey tongue and rolled his eyes. “Idiots like that will have the heirs thinking they’re better than everyone, thinking like emperors.”

A breeze flapped the tapestries as the wooden door opened and closed.

“Your milk and apple juice, My King.” Sir Galagad smiled, holding a pitcher in each hand.

“Both?” Carl asked, “I’ve told you to call me Carl.”

“Never, My King.” The knight’s curly brown hair danced as he bowed his head. A serving boy behind Sir Michael carried a tray of silver cups.

“Would you like some milk?” Carl asked Deandra, holding out a hand decorated only with his golden wedding band. “Apple juice.”

“I couldn’t, Your Majesty.” Deandra shook her head, eyes down. Her black locks covered her face in the bow.

“I insist,” Carl smiled. “Pour for us, young man.”

The lad in a green servants uniform bowed to the king and looked to the gathering for their orders.

“Apple juice for me, please, what’s your name?”

“Tom,” said the boy in a trained voice that was neither so high pitched that it was painful to hear or low that it was difficult to parse.

“Apple juice, Tom. Thank you.” Danielle turned her brown eyes to Deandra, who was blushing beneath her freckles.

Tom poured a cup full of the golden liquid and handed the cup to the knight, who bowed her head. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sir Longbow. For you, My Lady?” The server waited for Deandra to order.

“No. I’m not. I mean,” Deandra stuttered. She waved her hands, breaking out in a sweat. “I’m not a lady,” said the girl. “Just.” She looked at her aunt for help. “I’m…”

“She’s my niece, Deandra Fletcher. An apple juice for her I think.” Sir Longbow watched the young woman for any objection but the girl nodded.

Tom passed Deandra a cup of the apple juice, bowing to her after as if she was a lady anyway. All the while his tray of cups was balanced perfectly on his right hand.

“A third for me, fuck my teeth.” Carl smiled a yellowed grin. He took the cup from Tom and nodded. “Thank you, My King.”

Tom looked around startled and shook his head. “You are the king, My Lord. Not I.” Blushing to his bones the boy stepped back. Danielle rolled her eyes at the boy’s defensive modesty.

“Kings can’t make jokes, can they?” He huffed, eyes on his left arm, frowning as he touched each finger to his thumb.

“No, King Carl.” Danielle smiled.

“I need rest. Excuse me, Dan, Deandra. It’s great to meet you,” he said to Sir Longbow’s gangly niece, “and to see you as always.” Groaning, he tried to stand, but fell back into the seat. “Help me up, John, Sean. I need to rest my old bones.”

Setting both pitcher’s on Tom’s tray, Sir Peter rushed to help Sir Michael. The two gently hooked hand’s under Carl’s armpits and raised him up slowly.

“Alright, boys. I’m not made of glass.” Carl wheezed through his head hung on his neck. The silver cup clattered from his hand. Without spilling a drop of anything on his tray, Tom stooped to scoop the cup from the floor. “I’ll see you later, Dan. Fare well Deandra. Wonderful to meet you.” The king limped along the library with the help of his bodyguards. His posture was that of a drunk hanging from companions.

Sir Longbow and her niece said nothing until they were alone with the dusty books. With lids closed over her eyes, Danielle pictured the young man Carl had been. That was before the magical spell which had sacrificed his youth for Queen, then Princess, Elspeth’s life.

“Have I told you how he stole the queen’s heart?” Danielle asked. Her voice echoed softly off far walls above the bookshelves.

“No.”

“At the time, Queen Elspeth’s mother still reigned. It was just after the assassination of her sister by agents of Sliabh and the traitor, Lady Guinevere. Princess Elspeth was on the verge of death. We didn’t know, but Carl made a deal, using himself as the payment for a spell to save Princess Elspeth’s life. He almost died. We thought he would. It took a lot to save him. He’s tough though. Survived a few battles with me. He helped fight to take Worm’s Mount Castle from the empire.” Frowning, the knight walked to the other end of the library. Deandra trailed behind her.

“Is that you?” asked Miss Fletcher of a painting in a gilded frame.

“So it says,” said Danielle, reading the plaque at the bottom of the portrait. “He must have painted it from memory. Looks nothing like me.”

“It has your nose.” Deandra smiled. Her eyes never left the image of a warrior in fine tournament armour. Oil paints certainly captured the folds of a tabard well.

“How dare you!” Smiling, the knight ruffled her niece’s hair.

A shadowy figure appeared from behind a shelf with a tome in hand. Catherine Harper’s yellow birdlike eyes were the most obvious hint of her missadventure with a harpy. The red angel which bit her had cursed her to transform into another one of the monsters that had attacked Leonor. Danielle’s eyes scanned an illustration of a man in agony on the page Catherine was reading. The royal assassin was unseen behind the silver bird mask given to her by the old Queen Malin before her death. All of the surface had blackened, silver only in the scratches that cut through the tarnished surface. That nightmarish face had been the last sight of many of Crann’s enemies in the night.

“What are you doing here?” Danielle asked.

“Reading?” Catherine answered, holding up her book.

“Were you in here the whole time?”

“I was.”

“Reading?” Danielle’s brows narrowed.

“That’s right.”

“You never liked Carl, did you?” Danielle asked, her voice rising with anger.

“Hold on.” Snapping the book shut to hold it in one hand, Catherine held up her other palm. The black leather of the glove picked up the flickering light from a torch on the wall.

“You were the one who called me a traitor for saving an imperial’s life.”

“Sir Longbow.” The assassin shook her head.

“You’ve been studying how to kill people for years. And now he’s sick?” Danielle pointed her tree trunk arm to the doorway Carl had left by.

“No.” Putting the book down on a shelf without looking, Catherine held up both hands and took a step back. “You know as well as I do that he was lucky to ever survive the spell that saved Queen Elspeth.”

Danielle advanced, face turning red. Deandra pulled on her arm. The knight shook off the girl. Grinding her teeth, she remembered the day she’d been whipped publicly for defending Carl, a child soldier, against the mob.

“You know how good I am,” Catherine insisted. “If I wanted him dead, he’d be dead. If I had been hiding, you never would have known I was here.” Her words fell on deaf ears as the red faced knight swung a closed fist at the assassin’s face. “The empire is gone. What would I have to gain? He’s the father of the princess for the sake of the gods. Soon to father a second. An heir and a spare. That’s just what the kingdom needs.” Ducking swipes, she stepped backwards down a line of shelved books with faded purple spines.

“I almost died, saving him, because of YOU!” Danielle roared. “You would have had him killed back then. You wanted it.”

“Yes but not anymore.” Catherine deflected a punch, knocking Sir Longbow’s hand aside with inhuman speed. “He’s MY KING!” The yelled words, as good as an oath of allegiance, stopped the warrior in her next swing.

“I don’t want anything to happen to him, Cat.” Closing her brown eyes dislodged a tear. It rolled down the grim face of the warrior.

“None of us do.” Catherine dared a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You saved him once. Lupita saved him the second time. He’s not going anywhere. He’s older than he should be but that’s it. The best healers are at his beck and call. Old men get tired. They have aches and pains.”

Fists still clenched, Danielle walked away. Deandra trailed behind her.

Leaving the castle they trudged through Leonor, over granite cobbles. The granite towers of the city had been built after fire had ravaged the west of the old city. The bungalow where Danielle had lived with Lupita, where they had hidden Carl after a battle, was gone. Leonor was not the small capital it had been then. Crann had stretched its borders far to the north. Wealth had flowed into the city as immigrants brought their trades and talents from across the world.

Granite streets penned them in, narrow alleyways designed to funnel an enemy should the city walls ever be breached again.

“Where are we going?” Deandra asked.

“I don’t know.” Shoulders slack, Sir Longbow walked. Citizens parted for her, nodding if they didn’t greet her by name. She nodded back. “I have a feeling in my gut.”

“King Carl is strong,” said the black haired girl. “You’ll see him again when he’s feeling better.”

Unclenching her fists, Danielle walked to a bar in the north west of the city. Oldtown had survived the flames of war but was rebuilt on orders of Queen Malin. Granite like everything else, the buildings were foreboding cuboids of granite with slate roofs.

Danielle drank deeply in a bar she had known before and since it was rebuilt. The Dragonslayer had been renamed in her honor. She never minded paying less for her beer.

Deandra nursed a cup of goat’s milk and scowled at all of the drunks who reminded her of her mother. “You should stop before you make a fool of yourself.”

“I guess so.” Sir Longbow nodded, feeling floaty and weak.

A bell rang. Then a second. The bells on the wall that warned of attack. The rhythm was wrong. Too slow. Somber.

Danielle nodded, downing the last of her beer. “Come on, Deandra. I’ll walk you home.”

“Are we being attacked?” asked the girl.

“No. The bells toll for the king. Carl is dead.” All joy and passion had left the knight’s voice. She stood from her shaking stool, legs turning to jelly. A solid weight crashed into her stomach. Deandra’s arms should not have held the mountain of muscle. Collapsing to her knees, Daielle rested her head on her niece’s shoulder and wept.